Sigh for Cythera
by Rosie eisoR
Summary: Sequel to 'Lady Roxanne'. Sadly, the course of true love does not run easy for Sir Gary, particularly not when everything and everybody seem to be opposed to his infatuation with Cythera. TH Awards WINNER 2005!
1. Arresting Arrivals

This is a sequel to _Lady Roxanne_, who is Cythera's sister. She had a few fairly bruising verbal matches with Gary, and he kissed her (for a bet). Most of this is set just after Cythera's arrival at Court, which by my reckoning is after the Tusaine war and before Alanna visits Eleni.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

When news that the Elden family would be blessing the Tortallan Court with another of their offspring reached Gary, he had groaned and buried his face in his hands, muffled wonderings of how he had offended the gods escaping. His cousin also expressed his displeasure with the gods, in the form of shock at their allowing the Eldens to produce more than one daughter, and there had been a glint in Alex's eyes that Gary had caught after emerging from the refuge of his hands. He hadn't liked it at all. He found himself not liking much of what Alex did recently, but generally shook the feeling off. Alex had been a friend for years. 

Gary had claimed that he would run off to Tusaine and live out the rest of his life as one of King Ain's wives if he had to so much as speak to another Elden.

Having met the lovely Cythera of Elden, he was still considering Tusaine. Only, in this new version, he would bypass King Ain's gardens and head straight for the most uninhabited corner, where he wouldn't have to worry about competing for her attention, save with dangerously attractive goats.

"She can't be mortal," Gary announced abruptly.

The other boys stared at him blankly. He struggled to recall what they had been discussing whilst he had been lamenting Cythera's absence, but was unable to remember and shrugged apologetically.

"_Delia_?" Alan asked, looking scornful. "She's perfectly mortal, if the way she _sweats_ when she dances is any indication. You could solve Carthaki droughts with that amount of water." His eyes darted to Jon as he spoke and his face tensed slightly, prepared for an explosion and a detailed analysis of Delia's defining attributes. This always seemed to start and finish with how beautiful she was, missing out most of her personality - and for good reason, Gary thought privately, but only because he was over Delia now.

Jonathan simply grinned, ignoring his squire for the moment. "I think my cousin has turned the conversation toward the lady Cythera. Mithros, she's _beautiful_."

Gary felt a twinge of jealousy at the look on Jon's face. Evidently he was not the only one; Alan flushed, reaching a hand up to fiddle with the ends of his hair. "And not interested in you," he said tartly to Gary. "I don't remember seeing her say more than two words together to you. Or apart, for that matter."

Gary sighed. Unfortunately the (too) plain-speaking boy was right. Cythera had been sweet and attentive; everything Roxanne was not. The only problem was, whereas Roxanne had chosen him to pick on, Cythera had directed her sweetness and attentiveness to everybody except him. Cythera had danced with Alex, Jon, Raoul - Mithros, she had _only_ danced with Raoul one night - and even the notoriously reluctant Alan had turned surprisingly obliging (well, obliging for him at any rate) when there was a chance to dance with the lovely lady.

There was never a chance for Gary. Whenever he managed to approach her, she was always off again, talking to this lord or that knight. What was so different? He was the Queen's nephew; son of the Prime Minister, the King's Champion and the training master; and hardly repulsive-looking besides. He ran a hand over his hair, as if to assure himself it hadn't all fallen out when he'd got up that morning.

"She's just perfection itself," he concluded. "She's not like ordinary girls."

Jon murmured his agreement, which caused Alan to snort loudly, and with disbelief. "Just yesterday, you were declaring Delia was the only one for you for ever and ever and you could hardly bear to look at another girl again."

An ironic smile twisted the corners of Jon's mouth and he settled back in his chair, raising his eyebrows at his squire and looking faintly amused. "Yes, I suppose I was, wasn't I? Ah, well, I guess that means this one's free for you to take, Cousin Gary. How do you propose to entice her?"

Gary looked thoughtful, considering and discarding plans such as 'Impress with Poetic Tongue', 'Make Jealous' and 'Become Indispensable'. Cythera was too special to trick into falling for him (aside from the fact that the ideas had never worked too well the first time). "Wait," he replied simply. "She'll come around eventually."


	2. Moving On

Chapter One - _Moving On_

* * *

Gary's endless declarations that Cythera wasn't like ordinary girls seemed to be true in at least one respect. She did not 'come around' as he had anticipated. Oh, she was nice and _polite_ enough if he forced a conversation, but there was always a certain reservation about her that was not present when she spoke to any other of his friends.

"She hates me. She must do."

By now, they were all used to his abandoning whatever was going on around him and blurting out precisely what was bothering him about Cythera at that moment. Alan, the only one currently present, rolled his eyes and finished his bread roll. "She doesn't know you," he said with unusual patience.

"She doesn't want to know me," Gary replied glumly, picking apart his own roll.

"Maybe you shouldn't presume to know what she's thinking," Alan suggested. "I would hate it if - if anyone did that to me."

"You aren't a woman, though, and you have no experience with them."

Alan's cheeks were red and his voice strangely high as he asked, "How are you so sure of that?"

Gary, who had been slumped over the table, his chin resting in his hands, suddenly sat up straight, eyeing Alan with new interest. "What's this? Squire Alan, Court Skulker and Avoider of Women Extraordinaire, has snared somebody? Who is she?"

Now he had managed to take his mind off Cythera, Gary did notice some changes in his friend. He was less sharp and had been, up until now, smiling at nothing. Gary had dismissed the changes he had spotted as being pride at turning another year older the previous day, knowing full well how Alan disliked being the youngest. But when he thought of it, he couldn't remember having seen Alan at all at the ball last night. They had all been distracted by Jon blowing up at Delia and retiring to bed early and alone. This behaviour was uncharacteristic of both his friends.

Jon appeared at Gary's elbow before the latter was able to interrogate Alan further, almost as if summoned by Gary's thoughts of him.

"Our Alan has lost his flower of innocence," Gary informed Jon as he slipped into the seat next to Alan.

Both of Jon's eyebrows shot upward and he turned to Alan expectantly. The younger boy simply flushed again and squirmed in his seat.

"Was it good?" Jon enquired with a smirk. From the sound of a thump under the table and the way the older of the two's expression contorted with pain, Gary deduced he had been the recipient of a swift kick. This was not wholly unexpected - Alan liked his privacy, and he didn't like to talk about the girls he found attractive. Until today, he had been the source of many rumours involving most farmyard animals and some farmyard boys.

"That is not a nice way to treat your overlord, squire!"

"Well, it serves my overlord right," Alan replied tartly, rising from the table. "I'm going to look for Faithful; I haven't seen him since last night."

Jon watched the stocky boy leave the room before returning his attention to Gary. "What did he tell you?"

"Don't you know?" Gary asked with an air of surprise. "Don't tell me what they say about Contés and their squires isn't true!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes and waited expectantly. He didn't have to wait long; Gary was eager to speculate on the identity of Alan's conquest.

"He just said that I shouldn't presume he hadn't slept with anyone. Have you seen him pay extra attention to anyone?"

Jon shrugged. "Not particularly. Unless..." He shot Gary a devious look. "Well, the Lady Cythera..."

With a superhuman effort, Gary ignored his cousin and snapped his fingers. "Delia! He's always talking about her, maybe he's trying to cover up his true feelings? And after you at th-" He fell abruptly silent. This was not because the withering look from Jon had had its desired effect, but because Geoffrey had sunk into Alan's vacated seat, looking as though he'd been asked to partner Wyldon of Cavall to every ball for the rest of his life.

Jon and Gary exchanged worried looks. Whilst Geoffrey, unlike Alan, usually stayed with his own yearmates, he was well-liked throughout the palace.

"What's wrong, Geoffrey?" Jon asked, his concern evident even through his mouthful of breakfast.

"Father's remarrying," Geoffrey said dully, propping his chin up with his hands.

Gary pushed aside his empty plate. "Sorry, Geoffrey, that must be difficult for-"

"Roxanne of Elden. He's marrying Roxanne of Elden. I got the letter this morning."

This time, the cousins were doing their very best _not_ to look at each other. Suddenly escape became imperative. Jon muttered congratulations and excuses; Gary could not.

"He needs an escape route whilst there's still time," Gary gasped when he had managed to stop laughing. "I know Lord Martin lives in Persopolis, but if it were my father, I'd be half-way to Scanra by now, complete with blond wig."

"I suggest you thank Mithros for small mercies," Jonathan advised. "And you might want to add more thanks for the boon of sane women, because there's Cythera."

Gary gulped nervously and surreptitiously wiped his sweating palms on his breeches before walking (although wobbling might give a more accurate depiction) over to her.

"Ah, uh, good day to you, Lady Cythera. I hear congratulations are in order for your sister."

Cythera inclined her head in acknowledgment, though her eyebrows had drawn together. "Thank you, Sir Gareth. That is most kind of you. Did you want me to pass the congratulations on?"

"If it pleases my lady," he answered, wincing inwardly at the thought of even second-hand communication with Roxanne.

Cythera suddenly smiled at him, and he felt as though his knees might collapse. "Yes, I think she'd like to hear that you have moved on as well. Good day to you, Sir Gareth, your Highness," she added as Jon joined them. She dropped them a curtsy before continuing on her way.

Gary stared after her, his mouth opening and shutting in a fair impression of a fish, though Jon - exercising the kind of diplomacy that would make him a great king - thought it better not to tell him. "Moved on?" he said, his voice cracking slightly. "From _Roxanne_?"

"Maybe she means moved on as in no longer wanting to kill her? I wouldn't worry about it," Jonathan advised in his infinite wisdom.


	3. Private Kisses in Public

* * *

Chapter Two - _Private Kisses in Public_

* * *

"Why do you keep looking around?" Jon wanted to know as he stretched out in the grass.

Alanna's hands reached up to check her wig was secure. "It just feels too public, that's all."

Jon peered up into her face. "Yes, I see what you mean," he said, affecting a very solemn air. "It's far too open; anyone in a five-hundred mile radius is going to know that the Prince is right here, kissing his squire."

"You're not kissing me," Alanna pointed out.

"No, I don't seem to be, do I? Well, I think that can be fixed," he said, smiling and reaching out to pull her down on top of him.

Alanna yelped and checked her natural colour was still not visible. "You enjoy making me sweat."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Of course I do. Does your other secret lover?" As Alanna opened her mouth, no doubt to insult him, he kissed her swiftly. He was breathing raggedly as he pushed the black hair from her eyes, and explained, "I had to do that, you see. Ladies don't use soldiers' language."

"I'm not a lady," Alanna reminded him. "I'm a squire. Your squire."

"Mine," he agreed, kissing her again. "My lady squire."

"You can't always shut me up with a kiss, you know."

He grinned, leaning forward a little so their noses touched. "Oh, but it works so well."

She was about to kiss him to see if it would shut _him_ up, but somewhere above them, a throat was cleared. Loudly. Guiltily, like a child caught stealing the last of the jam tarts, Alanna scrambled to her feet, hiding her face behind her hair. Through the veil her wig provided, she could see Jon getting to his feet.

"Lady Roxanne," he said coolly, bowing as Roxanne swept him an elegant curtsy. "What a pleasure." His tone suggested it was anything but.

Alanna made to bow, then remembered her state of dress and curtsied instead, though clearly not well enough for the standards Lady Roxanne set, judging by the contemptuous look thrown her way. She dimly recognised Roxanne, though she couldn't tell where from. She tucked her hair behind her ears, and thoughtfully examined the other girl.

"Oh, the _pleasure_, your highness, is all _mine_, I assure you. I do hope I didn't interrupt your little, ah, _discussion_?" Roxanne asked silkily.

Alanna clenched her fists and took a step back, wondering how much Roxanne had heard.

Her worries were apparently unfounded. In view of the Prince's lack of response, Roxanne clasped her hands together. "I apologise for my rudeness, your highness, it is certainly not my place to suggest the Prince should conduct such affairs in, shall we say, a more _private_ place." Her eyes flicked across to Alanna, and her expression seemed to say that she thought the person far more objectionable than the place.

Jonathan nodded curtly. "I am aware that I have to congratulate you on your upcoming marriage."

"Oh, you do not _have_ to do anything, your highness. But yes, and how sweet of you to keep up with what's been happening to me! I cannot say that I've been doing the same with you. Do you still keep in touch with those _dreadful_ friends of yours? I suppose Ra - Raghoul was well enough, but that little boy, he had the most _awful_ temper tantrums, and he smelt like a pig! And don't get me started on-"

"On my cousin?" Jonathan enquired frostily. "Perhaps you should ask your sister about him. Anyway, we have no wish to force you to start anything you don't want to, so good day to you, Lady Roxanne. I would hate to think we were keeping you from your busy schedule." He grabbed Alanna's hand and strode off, purposefully, toward the city.

"You'll have done it now," Alanna whispered, hoping that she didn't actually smell like a pig. It wasn't her fault that she needed to be so careful with bathing times, in case she was discovered. "She'll say the little boy is rubbing off on you."

"I don't care," he responded shortly. "Dear _gods_, she's even worse than before. Whatever they put in the Elden water, it can't be good."

Alanna pulled him to a stop, taking his other hand in hers. "I can't wait to see Gary's face when he realises she's in Corus, though. He's been planning methods of torture all week. And there you went, stirring it all up. Anyway, we shouldn't let her ruin our afternoon. Squire Alan's out all day courting his lady, remember?"

"Ah, yes," Jonathan said, smiling down at her. "Perhaps next week, you could start to bring me flowers. I like lilies."

Alanna snorted. "That doesn't surprise me. Come on, pansy, before she catches up."

* * *

"And to come to Court, hoping to find my sweet and innocent sister, and instead discovering she has been _fraternising_ with the _enemy_!" 

Roxanne finally drew breath after a five minute tirade, but Cythera did not jump in immediately, unable to digest all the information, which ranged from Roxanne's poor nerves, to the state of Roxanne's poor nerves, to the effect Cythera's behaviour was having on Roxanne's poor nerves. Confusion flickered in Cythera's eyes at the sudden change in subject, and she opened her mouth - but too late. Roxanne was off again.

"I just don't understand you. After all that vulgar boy did to me, you go and throw yourself at him like some sort of _flower girl_! No doubt that's the kind of girl he's turned to after me, though, especially given the _company_ his cousin keeps nowadays. Didn't even know how to curtsy to a lady! She looked as though she'd been dragged through the gutter, though, and that _hair_-"

"I have not been throwing myself at Sir Gareth," Cythera interrupted.

"- didn't look brushed at - what?"

"I have had nothing whatsoever to do with him. The feeling is apparently mutual; the most he's ever said to me was yesterday. He wishes you and Glaisdan every happiness," Cythera said serenely, fixing her hair into a thick plait.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," said Roxanne darkly, beginning to pace the floor. "Every happiness into our early graves. No, don't do your hair like that, it looks messy. Put it into a bun."

Cythera obeyed. "I'm sure he repents for what he did to you, and he really does seem to have changed, from what you told me about him. He seems to be a perfect gentleman now."

"Appearances are deceiving," Roxanne replied quickly, lowering her eyes. "He won't change, don't trouble yourself trying to find the best in him, he doesn't deserve it. You would do best to keep away from him. Far away. You - you understand, don't you?" She stopped right in front of her sister, her dark eyes searching Cythera's. "It's for your own good. I don't want you getting hurt."

Cythera nodded, securing her hair with pins. "I understand, Roxanne. I'll try harder to keep away from him. There, how does that look?"

"Oh, no, that's not becoming at all! Try something looser - a plait, maybe?"


	4. Save the Last Dance

* * *

Chapter Three - _Save the Last Dance_

* * *

Gary had been delighted by the recent progression of his relationship with Cythera to a reasonably pleasant - albeit somewhat short - conversation. He had been encouraged to the point that he had now resolved to seek her out that night, maybe even to ask her for a dance.

"You look rather determined," Raoul commented, taking a sip from his drink.

Gary nodded, feeling rather nauseated. "I'm going to get my goddess tonight."

"Setting your sights a little high, aren't you?" Alex asked, coming to stand next to the two knights. "I've had a much more _mortal_ woman asking after you."

Gary's eyes instantly flew to Cythera. "Who?" he croaked, failing entirely in his attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Lady Roxanne of Elden," replied Alex, a thin smile curling over his lips.

Gary blinked rather rapidly at the young man, and then he buried his face in his hands. "It's a sign. I'm doomed," he informed his companions unhappily. "That she-demon will make sure I never get Cythera."

It was perhaps lucky for Gary (or, rather, for the other two) that he didn't see the expressions which passed over his friends' faces. When he resurfaced, their eyes were busy elsewhere and their faces were carefully blank.

"At least she's not at the ball tonight," Alex said, patting Gary on the shoulder. "Anyway, have a nice night." With that, he moved away to talk to Delia of Eldorne.

Gary stared at Alex's back, brow furrowed. "What do you think the Graveyard Hag's assistant wanted with me?"

"Oh, that's probably just Alex messing things up. Don't worry about Roxanne." Raoul shuddered slightly at the memory of her, and took a large gulp of wine.

Gary nodded, watching as Alex disengaged himself from Delia and went to talk to Cythera. "Our Tirragen's becoming quite the court flirt, wouldn't you say?"

"Quite the court _something_," Raoul muttered, draining his goblet. "Where's Alan got to?"

Gary glanced around the room, paying particular attention to the window seats. Satisfied that Raoul's vision wasn't failing him, he waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, somewhere with his new woman. He won't introduce us to her."

Raoul choked. "What?"

"Oh, yes, he's been a bit of a late starter, but Alan seems to be progressing beautifully in the world of women. Jon's in his room, avoiding a certain country in _his _world of women." Gary indicated Delia with his head. "Otherwise she sticks to him. Jon says he's known leeches that could be disengaged more easily, though I didn't care to ask how he'd come to know them." He exhaled, fixing his eyes on Cythera. "Anyway, sorry to abandon you, Raoul, but I've spent enough time chatting. I'll lose my nerve otherwise. Wish me luck."

"Luck," Raoul said obediently. "And play nice - don't mention Roxanne. Or pretend you can't remember who Roxanne is."

"I'm always nice," returned Gary over his shoulder, but seriously considering the other bit of advice.

When he reached Cythera, however, he found being nice wasn't the problem. At first, catching her on her own had been the problem. After he had managed that, and he had also managed to stop tripping over his own tongue, he asked her to dance.

"Oh! I, well, I would love to, but Sir Alexander of Tirragen has claimed the next three dances, and Sir Oliver of Darroch always has the last dance. It's an unspoken tradition, you see."

Cursing Alex, but reassured by the fact that she had sounded genuinely apologetic, he first sought out Lady Alayne, formerly of Darroch, and entreated her to plead to her brother on his behalf. An unspoken tradition was an easy thing to break. He then found Lady Gwynnen and, after offering himself for dancing tomorrow, offered Douglass, Raoul and Jon before agreeing that he would persuade Alan to dance with her tomorrow in exchange for her occupying Oliver for the last dance. He didn't entirely understand her choice of the short, bad-tempered Alan who couldn't tell one dance from another, but figured it probably had to do with attracting attention. Lady Gwynnen liked to attract attention.

So, for the final dance, Cythera found herself presented with Gary. He didn't know what he had expected her to make of his preparations, but he hadn't expected her to avert her eyes and mutter, "This is very kind of you, Sir Gareth, and be assured that I am flattered, but I regret that I am unable to dance with you."

He visibly deflated, looking crestfallen. "May I enquire as to why?"

She looked surprised that he had to ask. "Be - because of Roxanne, because of what you did to her."

Gary closed his eyes and bit his lip. "That was a mistake, my lady. I assure you, I would never toy with somebody that way now."

Cythera nodded in acceptance of his repentance. "So, you understand why I have to refuse your offer."

"No," he said bluntly, fighting the urge to kneel at her feet and beg for forgiveness. "I'm afraid I don't."

Cythera glanced around, looking unnerved at the amount of spectators their conversation had attracted. "I think I need some air. Would you care to join me outside, Sir Gareth?"

Gary followed, feeling bewildered, feeling hatred for Roxanne, but rejoicing in the fact that finally, Cythera was talking to him. He couldn't help but marvel at the differences between the sisters. Cythera didn't toss her head proudly. She had not raised her voice when she had realised people were watching, although slipping outside was sure to give rise to more speculation.

He sat down on the bench, awaiting her next words.

"My sister warned me this might happen," Cythera began. She did not sit, instead stood perfectly still, facing away from him. Instinct told Gary to be silent, even as disquiet fired up inside him. Also, he was not entirely sure he could talk; being alone with Cythera was making him tremble. "She said there was a risk you might transfer your affections for her to me. I am not my sister, Sir Gareth, nor do I pretend to be."

He frowned, not having expected this attack. It distracted him from his dry throat and the distance between him and Cythera. "I realise that, my lady. I also - please be assured that I have and have had no affections for your sister that could possibly be transferred to you."

She turned to face him at that, searching his eyes. He didn't know what she wanted to find there, and swallowed, hard. She was almost close enough to kiss. "You mean to say that your affections for Roxanne run too deep to be affixed to a person you barely know, save by association?"

"I mean to say, my lady, that it would not be possibly to transfer an emotion that did not and does not exist," Gary replied gently.

Disbelief flickered in Cythera's eyes. "You held no love for a lady you _proposed_ to?"

"Proposed to?" Gary echoed. "I did no such thing!"

Cythera faltered, pushing her hair back from her face and looking away from him again, as though she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. He bit his lip and waited.

"Then you deny any relationship with my sister?"

Now, it was Gary's turn to falter. "Not exactly."

It seemed as though they remained there for an age, both digesting what they had heard and neither liking it. In the end, it was Cythera who moved first. She curtsied, but did not bother to break the silence to bid him a good night, and Gary was left alone. He was reaching a decision that he did not like, but appeared to be unavoidable.

It was time to talk to Roxanne.


	5. Brushing with Almost

Chapter Four - _Brushing with Almost_

* * *

She was skimming pebbles over the lake. He watched her for a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets, and then he turned his eyes to the water. Each stone was dropping right in, without skipping over the surface.

"You should try smoother pebbles, my lady."

He waited as she span to face him, squinting and shielding her eyes so she could see who he was.

"Good day, Sir Gareth." She turned away from him, her back visibly tensing.

"Hello, Lady Roxanne," he replied, sauntering down the hill to stand next to her. He heard her suck in her breath sharply. Sensibly putting it down to whatever she had told Cythera, rather than his devastatingly good looks or (more worryingly) his odour, he ignored her attempts to subtly shift away from him and poked through the pebbles at his feet.

"Try this one," he said finally, offering her a rounder pebble.

Roxanne took it, muttered a grudging, "Thank you," and hurled it into the water.

"Not like that," he chided, managing to stop himself likening her to a salivating Scanran hurling a spear. That would not get her on his side, and then he would never find out what she had said to her sister. "Allow me." He picked up another pebble and, with a flick of the wrist, sent it skimming across the water - once, twice, three times - before it plopped underneath the surface.

"I'm out of practise, of course," he said ruefully. "The Prince and I used to come here a lot, though, when we were younger."

It felt strange talking to Roxanne outside a ballroom, and stranger still to be talking to her normally, without stinging insults or stilted, polite conversation. For a moment, when he turned to look at her, she looked beautiful. Although that, he supposed, was because her mouth was shut for once.

The effect was entirely ruined when she shot him a cold look. She laced her fingers together, once more becoming the demure Court lady. "Would I be correct in supposing you have come to discuss my sister, Sir Gareth?"

So they were going to do this now. Well, at least he didn't have to spend time fashioning small talk. Gary sat down and gestured for her to do the same. "I came to hear whatever you wish to say, Lady Roxanne. If you do not wish to say anything about Cythera, far be it from me to force you to do so."

She shrugged and spread her skirts out as she sat down. He saw her eyes narrow, assessing his words for a hidden threat or insult, and despair set in. He needed to show her he was in earnest or she would tie his tongue in knots and leave him more confused than before, and so he reached out to her. He didn't know what he meant to do, yet found himself taking her hand in his. "My lady, clearly there is still some ill feeling between us. I should like to resolve it - not for your sister, or any other member of your family, for you and for me."

This appeared to appease Roxanne. She glanced down at their entwined hands, and he held his breath. Unbelievably, she relaxed. "She came to bel- It... that is to say, going to-" She paused, and stared very hard at a point somewhere to the left of Gary. A faint blush stained her pale cheeks. "I think it would help if I knew how much you knew."

It was difficult for him not to snap at her. He thought carefully before replying, "Just start at the beginning and we'll see how much needs filling in afterwards."

She nodded reluctantly, nose wrinkling slightly, and scanned the forest, as though looking for somebody to take over the telling for her. "I'm only doing this for Cythera, you understand, because - because I hate having to lie to her." She hesitated again before continuing. "My mother, when she was my age, became the favourite at Court very quickly. Within a couple of days, she had the Crown Prince and your father falling over themselves to propose to her. And, well, then there was Cythera, who had all these dreams of Court and her older sister, and I... do I really have to go on?"

Gary merely nodded in reply, all the while fighting the urge to grin at the thought of Uncle Roald (who had never shown any interest in any woman besides Aunt Lianne) and his father (whom he was certain had never fallen over anything, especially not for a proposal) arguing over Roxanne's mother. Arguing over Cythera's mother was more understandable, but unfortunately somehow Roxanne's and Cythera's mothers were one and the same.

"Well, anyway, Cythera was _so _disappointed when the Prince didn't fall for me - I didn't think he would, because he's so unimaginative. But she kept asking me who I was going to marry." Roxanne licked her lips carefully and watched him, trying to judge his reaction. "So, eventually, I gave her your name. And if you don't believe anything else I say, please know that I didn't mean anything to come of it. I thought you would keep away from her, I thought she would keep away from you, and I thought you would be married by the time she arrived..." She trailed off, looking down at the grass.

Gary wondered if he should remain silent; if speaking would give her a loophole rather than securing the noose. Oddly, he found himself not caring very much. Roxanne had lied, in a manner that called his own reputation into question, and he should feel disgusted with her. He should want to march back to the castle and tell Cythera everything. But, for some reason, he didn't. It wasn't as though Roxanne had gained anything by lying. He cleared his throat. "Why me?"

Roxanne's eyes seemed to have locked onto his face. She half-smiled. "I thought that would be the one thing you wouldn't need to ask. You're - well, you're Sir Gareth. The Prince's cousin, son to the busiest man in Tortall and-" A slight blush suffused her cheeks. "You're charming. Or, at least, you were."

In an attempt to diffuse the atmosphere, he asked, "Am I not _still_ charming?"

She looked uncertain how to respond, then smiled nervously. "You use your charm sparingly now. It's only a supposition, but my sister is easily charmed, and from what she's told me, you haven't bothered with her at all."

It was his turn to be lost for words. He shredded the petals of a flower whilst he thought. "It always appears to me as though she has quite enough people to charm her without me adding to it."

"Sir Alexander of Tirragen has been _particularly _charming," Roxanne said meaningfully, fiddling with the edges of her dress. She missed Gary's expression of surprise. He had noticed Alex hanging around Cythera, but that was not out of the ordinary - all the boys flocked to the beautiful blonde.

"I do not like him," Roxanne continued. This was also not unexpected. Roxanne seemed to reserve the same respect for people that most nobles might reserve for a particularly pungent pigsty. "He thrives on the misfortune of others. And he walks around like the Goddess herself gave birth to him and he can't quite understand why he's stuck in the Mortal Realms."

Gary snorted with laughter and opened his mouth to defend Alex, but the words wouldn't come, even though he knew Roxanne's dislike of Alex had been founded by his snubbing her in the first place. Instead, he asked, "How do you know Alex has been paying special attention to your sister?"

Roxanne gave him an incredulous look. "Sir Gareth, I know my sister. She talks of him often - more so than she talks of any other suitor, and she's always recounting their discussions." She allowed this to sink in, then continued, "I dislike asking you to do this, but I would thoroughly appreciate it if there was anything you could do to ensure she is kept away from him. She doesn't quite understand court games, and she just protests that I haven't troubled myself to get to know him."

From the sound of it, Roxanne might have the measure of Alex better than Cythera, or even Gary. Gary frowned and stored the matter away to consider later. Maybe he'd ask Roger about Alex's behaviour.

"I'll see what I can do." Gary paused, trying to think of a conversation topic that was safe and argument-free. "So, I hear I am to congratulate you on your upcoming wedding."

At first, he had thought he pitied Lord Martin for his future spouse. Then, as Douglass had recalled the numerous times Geoffrey's pranks had been blamed on Gary, he had thought maybe she deserved that family. Now, as he looked at the expression on Roxanne's face, he realised he felt pity for Roxanne. Marrying a man who had already been married, who had a son scarcely younger than Roxanne herself, couldn't be easy on her.

"Having met him, I think I can understand why people say they feel they must offer congratulations, rather than giving their congratulations freely." Her mouth tightened. "Mother says he's a good match, and I could do worse."

Mother hadn't said she could do better. "He _is_ a good man, Roxanne. He's got a good heart, even-"

Even if he doesn't show it.

Gary bit his lip and looked down, his eyes falling on their interlinked hands. He had forgotten they even held hands. He squeezed her fingers gently, and Roxanne glanced up. Their gazes met, and Gary felt as though something was fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He wet his lips and leaned forward ever so slightly, and ever so hesitantly, until -

Roxanne drew back, shaking her head. "Thank you, Sir Gareth," she said formally. "I hope I proved useful."

Awkwardly, he pulled his hand free of hers. "Call me Gary," he suggested.

Surprise, then gratitude flickered in her eyes. "Then thank you, Gary."


	6. Playing Games

* * *

Chapter Five - _Playing Games_

* * *

There were certain things Gary didn't like in the mornings. Having cold water poured on him, he discovered, topped the list.

He let out a yelp and tumbled out of bed, his wet covers falling with him. After letting out a necessary stream of curses and swear words, he looked for the culprit. His cousin.

"Don't think that just because you're the second most important person in the kingdom, you can get away with stunts like this," Gary informed Jon, shaking his head and scattering drops of water over the room. "As soon as my teeth stop chattering, I'm killing you. I'm absolutely soaked."

"Excellent," Jon said, not looking at all bothered by the death threats. Gary had every intention of carrying through with them - that is to say, he would have every intention if it weren't for the fact that people would almost certainly notice Jonathan missing if Gary managed to dispose of him.

"Was there any reason for this rude awakening, or could you just not wait until morning to gaze into my eyes?"

Jon looked suitably unimpressed by Gary's sharp tone. "You wouldn't wake up, I tried calling you first. I wanted to hear about Roxanne."

"Oh," Gary said, wringing his dripping sheets out. "She was fine."

Jonathan arched an eyebrow at his cousin. "Roxanne is _never_ fine. Roxanne is insulting, scathing or mildly violent."

Gary rubbed his eyes. "She's really not that bad."

"Roxanne is sharp enough to make hardened criminals soil their loincloths, she could make an entire army stop in their tracks, she's - _not that bad_?"

"No," Gary replied curtly, tiring of talking about Roxanne. It made him think of the almost kiss, and then he felt embarrassed, which he was far too tired to feel. "She's not. You, on the other hand, should be strung up and eaten alive by eagles for waking me up at this godsforsaken hour."

A scowl set over Jon's features. "Alan kicked me out," he explained. "Something about me snoring too loudly." The scowl was replaced by a frown as he sat down on the driest part of the bed. Gary watched his younger cousin silently, awaiting a better reason for his early morning drenching than snoring. Finally, Jon asked, "Do you think Alan's attractive?"

At first, Gary assumed he'd misheard. Then, he blinked at Jon. "Do I find _Alan_ attractive? Do _I_ find Alan _attractive_? You woke me up to ask me _that_?"

Jon folded his arms across his chest. "It's a simple question," he retorted. "Do you need it put in simpler terms?"

Gary responded with a number of incoherent but nevertheless violent threats. Then he paused as a horrifying idea occurred to him. "Why, does Alan-" He swallowed hard. "Does Alan find _me_ attractive?" he asked hesitantly.

An unfathomable expression flickered over Jon's face before he snorted loudly. "You wish. No, I just - I just wondered what type of person would think our Alan was attractive, and since you apparently don't, I can rule out 'psychopathic killers' from my list of possible sweethearts for him."

"Good," Gary replied, eyeing his room for a dry replacement for his sheets. Finding none, he crossed the room and rapped sharply on his squire's door. "Now go die a horrible death."

"I'm sure that files under 'treason'."

Gary shrugged, knocking harder. "You're not king yet, but the cause is justified enough to negate the crime. But, I would be willing to negotiate your horrible, slow and painful death by snakes-"

"It was eagles a moment ago," Jon pointed out, looking all too cheerful in the face of his impending doom. "If I'm going to die, I'd like my murderer to be consistent."

Gary shot him a glare that, if the world were fair, would have killed him on the spot. "Keep talking and I'll make sure you're sent to visit Grandmother." Jon abruptly shut up, eyeing Gary warily. "I want you to dance with Cythera."

"So you can get even angrier with me and publicly explode?"

Gary sighed in exasperation. "No, so nobody else will dance with her. She won't dance with me, and you're the _Prince_, she has to say yes to you. Or she's polite enough to not say no."

Jon stood finally, not convinced. "I'm going to agree, but only because I think you are severely unhinged and I should humour the insane."

"Excellent," Gary said, yawning widely. "Carry on like that, and you'll be the best King ever. And why is my damn squire not up yet? Aren't these things supposed to come when you call them?"

"He's probably asleep. It's pretty early, you know."

* * *

"Alan? Alan, the palace is burning down. There's a murderer on the loose. There's a girl asking after you down the stairs, she says she's pregnant and it's yours." Douglass paused to see if his latest attempt would have any effect. There was still no answer, and so he continued talking to the wooden door. "Alan, Dain of Melor wants to have a rematch. He's downstairs, with the Shang Wildcat. And King Ain's here to offer you a personal invitation into his pleasure gardens." 

Finally, a tousle-headed, fully-clothed Alan pulled his door open. Douglass looked at him enviously. Alan had clearly been able to enjoy a full night's sleep without interruptions from his knight-master, whinging about having wet the bed.

"What do you want? I'm busy."

Douglass raised an eyebrow. "Busy, eh?"

Alan scuffed a foot across the floor, not looking at the other squire. "Yes, I'm playing chess."

"Oh, right." Douglass shot him a sly grin, news having reached him about his yearmate's newfound appetite for the opposite sex. "About to checkmate her, eh? Take her queen, get your king in-"

Alan's face contorted with disgust. "No, I'm not playing with a girl. I'm playing with Jon. And he's taken my queen."

"Oh, I didn't realise you were really playing chess. Sorry. I have a message for you from my most supremely deranged knightmaster."

Alan raised his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

"You're to get your sorry behind to each ball before Jon, and ask - nay, beg the Lady Cythera to bless you with the first dance, or you'll never be able to face another day again."

Alan's mouth fell open. "But - bu-" His eyes narrowed. "Gary didn't really say that, did he?"

"Fellow squire, would I lie?" Douglass asked, trying his best to look sincere.

Alan rubbed his nose. "Well, yes, just now you were telling me about the bears running up and down the hall that were going to kill you unless I let you in." He poked his head out of his room, and looked deliberately from left to right. "Definitely a lie."

Douglass shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't lie about my knightmaster's orders." He glanced at Alan, wondering whether the other boy was remembering the Beltane event, where he had tried to persuade all the eligible girls that his knightmaster had ordered him to jump over the coals with at least twenty girls, or he'd face the whip. He decided to proceed hurriedly. "You can check it with him if you like. Personally, I think all this lusting after the rose of Elden has made his mind slightly cracked."

"I think your mind's slightly cracked," Alan retorted. "Now go away, I want to finish my game."

Douglass saluted him. "Yes, sir. Hope you win, Jon!" he called into the room.

* * *

"Win?" Jon queried as Alanna re-entered his room. 

"Oh, nothing, just Douglass being peculiar."

Jon nodded, and pulled Alanna on top of him. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Well, you still haven't apologised," Alanna pointed out. "You just walked out."

Jon kissed her on the lips. "There, how's that for an apology?"

She kissed him back.


	7. Feverish Confessions

Chapter Six - _Feverish Confessions_

* * *

Gary was sitting up in bed, his back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door opposite. He hadn't slept at all the night before - Aunt Lianne had taken ill, and he was not allowed to go to her. His father had promised to bring him news of any change, whether it was good or bad, and so he waited, not daring to sleep or to even close his eyes until he was reassured.

Finally, somebody rapped three times. Gary leapt to his feet and almost flew across the room, tearing open the door. It was not Duke Gareth.

It was Roxanne.

Her eyes were puffy from crying, and she broke into fresh tears upon seeing him. Gingerly - because he needed the comfort as well - he took her in his arms.

"Cythera's caught the fever," Roxanne said tearfully. "She's delirious. I - I don't know what to do. All the spare healers are taken up attending the queen."

Gary felt surprisingly numb at this news. It was almost as though he had stopped thinking entirely. "How bad is she?" he asked finally.

Roxanne pulled away from him, wiping her eyes. Her mouth trembled at the edges, and he swallowed tightly, a part of him wanting to protect her. "Very bad. I know she's none of your concern, but I thought - you were the only person I could think of who might help. And then Martin recalled that it was Squire Alan who had helped Sir Myles bring the Prince back from the Realms of the Dead..."

Gary considered this. Alan would be happy to help. He would make Alan happy to help. "Where is she?"

"The Elden rooms, they're in the South Wing."

* * *

"Cythera's ill, you have to help."

Alan stared at him. Gary was beginning to get frustrated. He repeated it, again, more slowly. "Sithzilluhavetohep."

"Could you run that past me again?"

"Sith-era has fee-ver, you have to hel-puh, no-bod-ee el-se," Gary said, pausing for what seemed like an age between each syllable.

Alan's face had become guarded. "Isn't there anybody else?"

Did he ever listen? Gary made a mental note to box the wax out of Alan's ears at a later date. "No," he replied shortly. "Otherwise I would have gone to somebody more intelligent."

Alan's cheeks pinkened, making Gary regret snapping. "It's just - I was... saving my magic - if they asked me to help again."

Now Gary understood. Alan wanted to preserve his strength in case they called on him to help the queen. Wordlessly, he reached out and gripped Alan's shoulder.

Alan's eyes filled with shame at this show of weakness, and he tugged free, his whole face turning a not-so-fetching shade of crimson. His voice was overly gruff as he requested, "Don't tell Jon."

Gary merely nodded, still looking at Alan and trying not to blink in case tears spilled over. That would never do. As it would happen, he would come to forget his promise, and he would tell Jon, just as Alanna and her horse vanished from sight, off to their desert adventures. Jon's mouth would be pinched together, white around the edges, and he would open it, as though he would speak, before carefully shutting it again and giving a nod of thanks. His eyes would look like Gary's eyes now, as though they were overbright, overwhelmed and struggling not to show it.

"It's not like last time, Alan. It doesn't drain in - in that way. But Cythera needs somebody _now_, and all the trained healers are occupied. Just make her... comfortable, that's all I'm asking, until there's time for a proper healer to tend to her."

Perhaps Alan had taken offense at the implication that he was not a proper healer, although Gary had not intended it to be a jibe. He strode off, his steps ridiculously big for his small frame, then stopped and turned to Gary. "Where is she?" he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

* * *

"Squire Alan!"

The redheaded boy's pace picked up and he disappeared around the corner. Cythera let out a sigh, holding her side which was beginning to ache from all the running she had been doing. She could almost hear her mother's voice as she leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, telling her she had brought shame on the family for chasing after boys.

Maybe he hadn't heard her? But no, he had definitely started running after he had seen her. Was he shy then? He rarely spoke to women, after all. No, because he had been asking her to dance every night for two months. Perhaps he was unwilling to take credit for his actions. But again, no, because she saw the pleasure that filled his face after somebody complimented him on having beaten the Tusaine knight, or having such a prestigious knight-master. Then what?

Cythera decided mournfully that boys were far too confusing. Roxanne would have cornered him and forced him to accept her gratitude - but then, Roxanne was charming and a clever speaker.

But when Cythera asked her for advice, Roxanne simply threw her a knowing look. She wouldn't reply, either. Roxanne could be so infuriating sometimes.

Gwynnen suggested that Alan was most likely infatuated with her, but he couldn't bring himself to talk to her, because of the interest the Prince and Squire Douglass of Veldine were showing.

Initially, Cythera had scoffed at the suggestion, but it had flowered in her mind until she had become convinced of its truth. That would explain why he wanted no thanks for his heroic actions, taking her renewed health as thanks enough.

Finally, she resorted to waiting outside Alan's room for him - a demeaning resort, true, but effective. First the Prince came out, and offered her an amused sort of smile. She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair, and could not offer any explanation. Soon afterwards, Alan himself appeared.

She got to her feet, brushing down her skirts. "Squire Alan, I-"

He was looking at her with those wide purple eyes, and she entirely forgot what she was supposed to say. He unnerved her. "Lady Cythera. I'm afraid you just missed his Highness-"

"I came to see you, actually, Squire Alan," Cythera interrupted, having found her voice again. "You haven't let me say thank you for healing me."

Alan stared at her, an eyebrow raised.

She lifted a hand to her hair self-consciously. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," he answered, adding, "my lady," belatedly. "I was just letting you speak."

Cythera blushed again. "Well, thank you. I - I really did appreciate it, and I just wondered..." His eyes seemed to swallow her words away, and she stopped, frowning slightly.

"Wondered what?" Alan asked. She was sure he didn't mean to be so sharp, but she did wish he wouldn't look at her so hard. It made her feel awkward and bumbling. She wished she hadn't started this, but she couldn't stop, not quite yet.

"Well, what your reasons were for doing it, if you don't mind me asking, Squire Alan. And if, well, if there was something you were looking for in return."

Disgust crossed Alan's face. "No," he said shortly. "I didn't want to do it. I wouldn't have done it if Gary hadn't asked me. So no, I don't want anything in return, and now are you satisfied?"

Her eyes widened slightly, as though he had struck her and she couldn't quite work out why. "Gary - Sir Gareth?"

"Yes!" said Alan impatiently. "Sir Gareth, the charming _poet_, the brave, brave knight who's making me sick to the stomach with all the talking he's doing about you and how much he regrets that stupid dare. So good day to you, Lady Cythera, and may I be the first to say-" His violet eyes rounded as his brain caught up with what he was saying, and his mouth fell open. He gave her a sickly smile. "Any chance you could be persuaded to forget all of that?"


	8. The Art of Falling

* * *

Chapter Seven - _The Art of Falling_

* * *

The ice sparkled with blues and pinks and yellows, looking deceptively innocent, like something from a fairytale. Cythera was not feeling particularly like the token princess at that moment. Her hair was escaping its plait, her face was flushed both from the cold and from embarrassment, and her skirt was coated with snow and ice. She had been told that skating was like dancing. If that was so, Cythera had two left feet, both of which wanted to choose their own direction. For a moment, she watched Gywnnen jealously. Gwynnen made it look so easy, gliding gracefully over the frozen surface, and occasionally pausing to perform tricks. Cythera's feet were going everywhere at once. She had only to set one foot down before it had slipped from under her.

"Need a hand?" the Prince asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

Cythera stared at the hand he was offering, unable to comprehend that the heir to the throne was seeing her in this undignified state. "Your Highness is too kind," she murmured, before remembering the informal setting and wondered if she should have followed his example and spoken freely. She took his hand gratefully, and he helped her to her feet.

"If I may be so bold, my lady, I would like to offer my arm for support," Jonathan said. "It hardly seems that you are getting the opportunity to fully appreciate the skating season with all the time you appear to be spending sitting down."

Cythera couldn't help but smile at that. "Yes, I do feel that I have had enough time to become fully acquainted with the ice. I'm getting tired of falling down."

He stopped abruptly. She looked at him curiously, but he didn't offer an explanation, simply grinned and took her other hand. "I'll skate backwards. I am certain that soon enough my lady will prove to be a natural at this."

She giggled, resisting the temptation to defy etiquette and study the movement of her feet. "I believe you're teasing me, your Highness, and it is not fair of you to do so whilst I am otherwise occupied." They were settling into a rhythm now, left, right, left, right. It was almost easy and almost enjoyable.

"I am merely taking advantage of the opportunity whilst I have a chance to best a member of the Elden family," he replied, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"If you want a match of wits, I am a poor contender." She hesitated, and almost slipped as she let her attention wander. "My sister would be happy to comply."

"I'm sure she would," Jonathan said, sounding guarded. "However, I am also a poor contender, certainly no match for Lady Roxanne, and I would have to make way for my cousin."

Cythera bit her lip, and said nothing for a few seconds, letting the chatter of the others fill the silence. "I do not believe your cousin would willingly partake in an event involving a member of my family."

He gave her an ironic look. "I know what Alan said to you. You know perfectly well now that Gary would fetch you ice from the Roof of the World and try to be home before it had melted."

Obviously Prince and squire were closer than she had thought. Her cheeks burned as she remembered Alan's reaction. "I thought - I thought I was a dare."

"A dare?" The Prince's dark eyebrows lifted. "None that I am aware of. You are, however, the subject of many bets, if my lady will permit me to say so, seeing as how my alloted time expires soon."

"Your squire told me so himself," Cythera replied flatly, confused and unable to bother with the flowery ways of Court.

Jonathan shook his head. "Maybe my lady is confusing it with the bet about Lady Roxanne."

Cythera's face paled, and her voice rose several octaves. "You have a _bet_ about _my sister_?"

Either Jonathan was no longer paying attention to the skating, or he couldn't stop Cythera in time; they found themselves colliding, closer than Cythera had ever been to a man, and then falling.

Cythera lay very, very still, waiting for Jonathan to untangle himself. He did, and got to his feet with a laugh. There were another pair of legs, presumably the person they'd crashed into, but she didn't bother about them, and struggled into a sitting position.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," she said, checking herself. "I'm just even wetter than before."

A hand appeared in her line of vision, and she took it without thinking, using it as before to hoist herself to her feet. Only, this time, as she stood and continued to hold his hand to balance herself, she found herself looking into Gareth's eyes and not Jonathan's.

Cythera swallowed tightly, and dropped his hand as though it had stung her, wobbling dangerously immediately after. He reached out a hand, steadying her, explaining, "We can't have you falling again."

Cythera still felt like she was falling, like her stomach was plummeting lower and lower. She found she couldn't look directly at him, so instead studied the ice somewhere to her left. "Sorry about - about - about-" She couldn't quite remember what she was apologising for, and finished with, "Sorry."

"That's not your fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

She smiled wanly at his right shoulder. "I don't seem to be much good at skating, even when I am looking where I'm going." She chanced a look into his eyes. "I'm better at dancing. Not that you would know that, though, you only asked me once."

From the looks of things, he remembered that time as well as she. "I didn't want to risk angering my lady again, and besides, you seem to have enough admirers to keep you company."

Cythera debated over pointing out that at least one of those admirers had been prompted or forced by Gareth, but decided she wasn't quite brave enough. "And so few who I admire," she replied, somewhat shyly.

Delight spread over Gareth's face, before quickly dissolving into confusion. He looked away from her and cleared his throat. "Would it please my lady to get off the ice? You do not seem to have taken to it so well."

"It would," she answered, tightening her grip on his hand involuntarily.

He looked awkward, his eyes not resting on anything in particular as he spoke. "Can you skate back?" he asked bluntly.

Cythera tried to gage the distance between their part of the pond, and where she had left her shoes. "With a lot of assistance, I think I could."

"If it pleases my lady, I could make it easier on you," he offered, still looking uncertain.

She didn't know quite how to respond, she only wanted to make him less tense, so she nodded, and was thus entirely shocked when he swept her feet from under her and proceeded to carry her back to the side. She was left with the rather pressing matter of where to put her arms, and settled for wrapping one around his shoulders, allowing the other to dangle loosely. Not perhaps wholly practical, but close enough so he'd know she was grateful, and distant enough so he'd know she wasn't easy. Her mother had trained her in these things.

He set her down on the bank, and for a second, it was back to feeling like she was in a fairytale, even though the snow was soaking into her back. His face was inches from hers, and she wondered whether it would be appropriate to close her eyes.

It was not, apparently. Gareth drew back and sat upright.

"I hope-" he began, at exactly the same time that she had started to say, "I wanted-"

They smiled in slight relief at the tension being broken, and he nodded at her to continue.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I have been particularly rude to you, for no good reason. I had, well, I had misunderstood, and I am profusely sorry for it."

Gareth nodded, looking torn between amusement and distress. "I-" He stopped, tilted his head, and looked at her. "I don't suppose you'd want to come to Naxen with me next week?"

She blinked at him. "Naxen? Naxen, the duchy? Your - Naxen."

"Yes, Naxen." He was turning a deep shade of red. "I mean, I understand, you don't want to, I shouldn't have asked you."

Cythera began to say, "No, I'd-" when there was a yell from across the lake. "What was that?" she asked, alarmed.

Gareth swore violently and leapt to his feet. "Alan's gone under."

"You go to him," she said, fumbling at the laces of her skates. "I'll go and get help."


	9. Personal Goddesses

* * *

Chapter Eight - _Personal Goddesses_

* * *

"Would you mind if I sat here?"

Cythera glanced up, startled. Even more startling was the identity of her companion; the Prince's other cousin. "Oh, yes, certainly, your Grace." She couldn't think what he'd want with somebody like her, and shifted uncomfortably away from him.

Roger took the seat and remained in thoughtful silence. She fancied he was considering the trail of ivy across the arm of the bench, or the peek of the evening sky that was visible beyond the network of roses above. These were not, however, topics he chose to bring up. "I have heard that you are somewhat infatuated with my younger cousin, and he with you." He arched an eyebrow at her, inviting her to share a joke she didn't understand. Not certain how much laughter the comment warranted, she settled for a weak smile. "I cannot help but notice that he is in there-" he gestured toward the building - "and you are all alone out here." He turned to her, his tone earnest. "Did you have a lover's quarrel?"

Cythera turned a brilliant red and hoped the dark night made it less noticeable. "N- n- no," she stammered, seeming to have lost control of her tongue. "It's - it's not like _that_. The Prince and I - we are - acquaintances. Friendly acquaintances."

He gave her a charming smile, which relaxed her, though she was inexplicably drawn to his eyes. Something in his eyes, that she couldn't quite pinpoint, reminded her of Alan. He was being too bold, and she wanted to tell him that, but she... couldn't.

The look in his eyes intensified. "I apologise if I seem rude, Lady Cythera, my cousin is very secretive, and I simply wished to introduce myself to the object of his affections."

"I appreciate the - the sentiment, your Grace, but I am his dance partner only. Occasionally."

She couldn't tell if this information pleased or displeased the Duke. He was a very closed person, but nevertheless _charming_. "And what do you think of your occasional dance partner, if you don't mind me asking?"

In a curious way, Cythera _didn't_ mind. She rubbed her hands together, and considered his question. As she thought, she came to realise that Prince Jonathan was a very closed person, remembering all those moments he had drawn back from her, how he had never told her how he felt, and why he had just abruptly stopped dancing with the Lady Delia. Such a contrast to his captivating, open cousin. "I think he's a wonderful prince," she said finally. "He's honest, and a good person."

"Ah, but a good prince and a good king are two different things," Roger pressed.

Cythera put her fingertips to her temples where she could feel a headache beginning, but still her eyes did not leave Roger's. "He will be a good king."

Roger looked almost disappointed, but a second later she swore she had imagined it. He stood and bowed to her, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips across it. "It has been a pleasure getting to know you, my lady."

She would never know what she had just escaped as the Duke re-entered the ballroom and gave his former squire a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Cythera was left looking at her hand, feeling strangely empty somehow as though something had just abandoned her.

"Ah, there she is."

She started, almost as though she had been in a trance, and looked up to find Squire Douglass and Duke Gareth looking down at her. "May I do something for you?" she enquired, wondering what she could have done to make so many prestigious people interested in her.

"Now there's a question I wouldn't mind answering," the plump boy said, winking at her.

Duke Gareth looked as though he was trying very hard to ignore Douglass' comment. "My son informed me that he'd invited you to Naxen."

Cythera wet her lips nervously. "Yes, he did."

"And has Naxen offended you in some way?"

"No, your Grace."

Duke Gareth regarded her carefully, folding his arms across his chest. "Then I must wonder why it is that you declined his invitation."

"Declined?" Cythera echoed, looking confused as though there were another word he might have meant to say instead. "I didn't decline it. I just-" She frowned, struggling to recall why she hadn't said yes. "I did not decline it, your Grace."

Douglass shrugged. "I don't think Naxen can take that kind of rejection," he said seriously. "It might begin crumbling away into nothingness now. Not that you'll be to blame, of course. Well. Not entirely to blame, shall we say?"

Duke Gareth gave him a dry look. "I thought we had agreed your role was not to talk."

"I'm sorry, your Grace. I'll try harder."

Cythera had spent enough of her life around people who talked far too much to know when to interrupt. "I am afraid I do not follow."

Duke Gareth sat down in Roger's vacated seat. "I received a letter from my mother this morning. She claims all my son Gareth has been doing is moping around at home, and I have evidently not been doing a good job bringing him up. She advises that I send him to fight on the Scanran border."

Cythera didn't particularly see what this had to do with her, but tried not to react to the idea that if Gary went north, she'd almost certainly be married by the time he was allowed to return.

"My wife, however, is convinced there's a girl involved." Duke Gareth's eyes were shrewd as they fixed on Cythera. "Would I be correct in assuming that _you_ are the girl involved?"

Cythera cast her eyes down, embarrassed. Her first instinct was to say no; Gary hardly came near her, there was no way he could be attracted to her. But then, she considered what Alan had said, what the Prince had said, and the ice-skating incident. Hadn't he carried her across the pond? And he had invited her to Naxen as well. She pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering how she had wanted to kiss him.

And so, she made her decision.

But when she raised her eyes to meet the Duke's, she realised he had already known the answer to his question, and he had already known what her response would be.

She wondered why it was all so obvious to everybody else.

* * *

The Naxen castle was quiet, oh so quiet.

And then, a roar ripped through the near silence, a roar belonging to a boy who had entirely shaken up the relatively calm household with his first few visits and still had the capabilities to shock them frequently.

"GARY!"

Habitually, Gary groaned, although a part of him was very definitely relieved that his squire had arrived at last. He loved his mother (and maybe his grandmother as well), but he was too old for their meddling words to be useful anymore. He could make his own decisions, and he did not need their criticisms. And he did _not_ need to be sent to Scanra. Having Douglass around would release some of the pressure on him.

He pulled open his door to find Douglass with a huge grin spread across his face.

"I'm very proud of you, my lord."

On second thoughts, he had preferred being alone. "Why?"

"Well, it's your day, isn't it? The sun rose for you this morning, the birds are singing your song, and the gods are smiling at you."

Gary rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, because the gods have chosen to bless me with your company."

"Yes. But not only that. Not only do you own the best squire in the kingdom - or you will do once I finally manage to bump Alan off - but today is the day that your prayers are answered. Today you will finally be able to put those niggling fears to rest, because your own personal goddess has arrived."

"You are _not_ my personal goddess, Veldine."

"How right you are, sir. How absolutely and completely right you are. I am not your dove, your queen, the petals to your stem, the sheath to your sword."

Gary fixed Douglass with a look entirely reminiscent of his father's. "Douglass. What do you want?"

"What I want is of no consequence. But your grandmother feels deprived of your glorious presence and begs you to rectify the emptiness her life is filled with at this precise moment."

"I'll bet."

* * *

It was not with anguish or trepidation that Gary descended the stairs, though perhaps that was what he should have been feeling. Instead, he was feeling rather annoyed. No doubt his grandmother would have concocted some plan that would keep him from going riding this afternoon. Stifling a groan, he pushed open the door to the drawing room.

"Ah, Gareth. How nice of you to join us."

Gary barely managed a smile, though his upper lip was raised, so it turned out more like a sneer. His mother was seated primly in a chair to his left, and his grandmother to the right. Between them, though not facing Gary, there was a girl. She was undoubtably one of the neighbour's daughters who Grandmother thought was entirely suitable for Gary, but who really wanted to run away with their shepherd. Not that it was likely that would happen twice in a row.

"Douglass said you wanted me for something?"

"Yes. Douglass is such a nice boy," his grandmother said, addressing the ash blonde. "Have you met him?"

He entirely missed the girl's response, being preoccupied by mentally imagining what his grandmother would really think of Douglass if she could hear some of the things he came out with. It undid some of what he had endured since his arrival.

"You might ask him for some advice, Gareth. I think you could do with it, honestly, why are you dressed as if you were about to go _riding_ rather than to meet your grandmother? And you can take that expression off your face. If you did things properly, I wouldn't need to tell you off!"

Gary privately thought that she would take any reason to reprimand him, no matter what. He sighed inwardly, trying not to move so that she would be finished with him as soon as possible.

"And I notice you haven't brought Johnny to see me for ages. I hear he's calmed down now, though, prefers to dance with just one woman a night these days. That's best for him, I think. Perhaps you could follow his example."

Oh, yes. Be more like Douglass and Jon, that was right. Pervert every conversation, disgust everyone, and then sleep with them. Why in the name of Mithros hadn't he thought of that? What woman wouldn't want him? Cythera wouldn't. Cythera who didn't want him anyway.

Gary's mouth tightened, before he decided he had to say something. He shouldn't be the only one who had to suffer. "Perhaps you could take a trip to the palace sometime? I'm sure Jonathan - and my father - would be absolutely delighted to see you, and I know how rarely you see either of them."

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Traipse all the way down to the palace, just to see those rotten two, who'll have wind of my coming two weeks before I decide to, and then swan off to some Tusaine war?"

He bit his lip to prevent himself from smiling. Grandmother was convinced the Tusaine war had been invented so that Duke Gareth and Jon could both conveniently be out of the palace for the entire duration of her stay.

"I'm disappointed in you, Gary," the Duchess Roanna said coolly, speaking at last. "I notice you have completely ignored our guest."

Gary felt his face heat up, knowing that both Douglass and Jon would have instantly introduced themselves. He was acting exactly how his grandmother expected him to act. "My deepest apologies, my lady." He wondered whether she was going to turn, or whether he should cross the room.

"That's all right." The girl was standing and turning before he could place the voice to a name, and he knew her, he did, but what was she doing here? "I hope you don't mind me intruding."

He was about to say she was the best intrusion he had ever laid eyes on, but clamped his mouth shut, eyeing his mother warily.

"Lady Cythera arrived this morning, with that squire of yours," Roanna informed him. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you already."

She was not, he saw, very surprised; most likely she had ordered Douglass to keep silent, but he did not prolong the issue, and looked at Cythera instead, nervously.

Cythera smiled at him, but addressed his mother. "Sir Gareth and I have much to discuss. If your Grace does not object, we would like to find a place where we may talk in peace."

Roanna inclined her head. Gary's mind was still buzzing with what was happening, he felt his head hadn't quite caught up, and it was still full of that smile she had just given him. He dimly registered that she had slipped her hand into his and was leading him from the room.

* * *

They were seated on the stairs - not, perhaps the most private place, but he had insisted that his grandmother would most likely be hidden behind the tapestry in his room, and this was as safe a place as any.

She was feeling rather giddy about the whole thing. Before finally reaching the duchy this morning, she hadn't really thought about what she was doing, but then, Douglass had gone to great lengths to divert her on the journey. It had all been very easy, the Duke had rung for his carriage to be readied, Douglass had ridden alongside her, the Duchess could not have been more receptive, and then Gary had arrived, and she had wondered for the first time what he would think of it.

"You came to _Naxen_ for _me_?" His voice cracked slightly on the emphasis, but she hardly noticed, her own voice not being entirely level either.

Cythera was now beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable. He was supposed to look at her lovingly and sweep her off her feet. Explaining herself hadn't really come into her fantasies about this moment. "Well, yes. Unless there's somebody else you'd rather I was here for," she answered, fiddling with her skirts.

Gary stilled the movement, taking her hands in his. She felt her stomach fizz pleasantly. "No, I think - I know I'd rather you were here for me."

She nodded.

He cleared his throat.

She waited.

"So - how was the journey?"

"You're not supposed to be _talking_ so much," she burst out.

Gary looked entirely taken aback, and she lowered her eyes to examine their entwined hands. Before she could apologise, he was asking, "And what should I be doing?"

She couldn't find the words to answer that; replying "kissing me" seemed to be a little too forward, so she simply shrugged and hoped he would understand.

"If my lady is averse to talking, would she prefer riding, dancing or eating?"

He was teasing her now, and she felt her lips curve in a smile that seemed utterly detached from the rest of her. She hadn't really seen this playful side to him before, and it was nice to know he had one, but she couldn't play along. He might be entirely at ease here on the stairs, but she had never been in such a fine place aside from the palace, and she was still a little concerned that he might ask her to leave. "Cythera," she replied instead.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Yes, my lady?"

"Cythera. You can call me Cythera. After we're finished not talking."

"Have we started not talking yet?" he wanted to know.

She looked up at him, smiling. "You're not letting us start," she admonished. "You keep talking. I've half a mind to let your grandmother send you to Scanra after all."

"How do you know she wants to send me there?"

She squeezed his hands gently, watching wariness fill his eyes. "Your father told me. That's why I'm here, to save you from Scanra."

Gary turned her hands over in his. "Is that the only reason you're here?"

"No," she replied, drawing out the word. Disappointment was rapidly filling her. He was talking too much, he wanted to discuss things; she wasn't there to converse. Her only hope was that he was shy. Before he could open his mouth again, she leaned forward and stopped his words with a kiss.

It wasn't like she had expected. The butterflies that earlier had been flapping around her stomach awoke again, but there was no shiver down her spine. A little dismayed, she pulled back to catch him smiling at her as though he had just been granted entry to the Divine Realms. He cupped her face in one of his hands, and with the other drew her closer.

And when he kissed her, she thought her insides might melt.

* * *

Somewhere above, a chubby boy slipped away, grinning.

_To his most esteemed Highness, the almost ruler of the greatest country in the world (and my personal favourite, by the way), _

_It would appear that your recent indulgence in a not-so-respectable habit of gambling has paid off, as it were. Sir Gareth, your notable cousin and my wonderful knight-master, has finally got his girl. Not that anybody thought he wouldn't, being of almost as fine blood as yourself._

_I realise that this should mean that I must part with a sizeable sum of money, but I have a few things to draw to your attention._

_Firstly, I know what happened last summer. Don't think I don't._

_Secondly, I would be largely in your debt (not in a monetary way, mind) if you would simply let the matter of the money slip your mind._

_Thirdly, I'm not paying you. I believe this is for the best, seeing as how the heir to the throne should not be encouraged to dabble in such abysmal habits._

_Thank you, and do have a splendid day,_

_Douglass of Veldine._


End file.
